AN: Obviously the characters are not mine and I am not making money off of them. If I was I likely wouldn't have left this on my harddrive for so long without posting.
May 15, 1986
The rhythmic thumping of the base assaulted his hearing as the bouncer opened the doors to let him in. Bodies packed together on the dance floor of the club to sweat off the week's labors. Shifting uncomfortably, Jack cursed the wardrobe people at the CIA for insisting he wore the skin-tight leather pants and t-shirt. He had decided earlier that night that he hated the eighties.
The club rocked with vibrations as the foreign music boomed from countless speakers around the room. Blue, green, purple, red and white lights danced off the slick hard forms moving in the center; a headache was beginning to form around his eyes.
It had been labeled a simple mission and been given to Jack as way of thanking him for the hard work he had been doing for the agency in recent years but tonight it was an annoyance. With a stiff drink ordered he began to make his rounds of the room; there was to be an information exchange about the recent assassination of Sweden's Prime Minister.
His Swedish was passable but not as fluent as many of the other agents, which begged the question, why was he sent? The thought lingered long enough to be counted as coincidence and discarded. With a quick glance at his watch, he realized there were ten minutes free before he was to meet the contact and with the show the patrons were putting on, Jack decided to use his time wisely.
Another cursory sweep of the club drew Jack's eye to the varied levels of platforms holding male and female clubbers, interested in showing off their talents. A few of the platforms housed poles of the stripper variety though no stripping was taking place.
The dancer on the pole closest to him kept his attention as she had with many of the men in the room. Her long legs wrapped around the metal pole with ease and moved with it as though it was a student waiting to be taught. She appeared lost in the world of the music and dance making Jack envious. When the dancer turned and threw her head back to rid her eyes of offending brown tresses, Jack's hand closed more tightly around his drink.
Her superiors obviously thought this was entertaining. Irina rolled her eyes at the outfit she was currently sporting. Her skirt was short and tight, allowing for her bent movements on the pole; her shirt was similarly tight with a scoop neck that barely concealed her breasts.
A mission of simply gathering information had been blown out of proportion, leaving her to flirt with a metal bar. Her contact was supposed to be at the club in ten minutes, which was ten minutes too long in her estimation. The lights and music were starting to get to her, closing her eyes, she tried to wish the assaulting noise away.
Moisture beaded on the surface of her smooth olive skin creating thousands of prisms around her. Eyes poked and prodded her from their places on the floor, no doubt wishing they could replace the pole. And she didn't blame them; she wanted the pole replaced as well, only none of the eager men in the club would due to satisfy her specific craving.
Wrapping her leg around the pole, she tipped herself back, continuing to move with the annoying music. She felt someone edging toward her, a brave soul. Her hands clutched the warm surface of the brushed steel as she unwrapped her leg and placed it on the platform. She didn't have the time or the patience to deal with a lust struck idiot who was going to spend half his time gawking at her.
Letting go with one hand, Irina sunk down to a squat and turned to face her latest suitor with a feral grin. Her legs wobbled with sudden weakness as her eyes landed on one of the most recognizable faces of her lifetime.
Before either of them could get past the bitter lumps in their throats, another woman jumped onto what appeared to be an empty platform, sending Irina forward into Jack.
Thick, muscular arms encircled her waist to stop her from meeting the floor in an unfortunate pile. Jack reconciled his reflexes were the only thing that caught Irina instead of helping her to the floor.
"I don't think we've yet been properly introduced." Jack released her as though burned.
"Jack," she breathed.
"Of course, I'm mistaken. You're well acquainted with me but I'm afraid I can't say the same." The lights in the club flashed over his harden features every two seconds making her wonder if he was actually standing in front of her.
"What are you doing here?" She felt hot and cold at once, his body igniting a flame the look in his eyes quickly put out.
"I'm sorry, I don't believe I got your name." For a moment Irina toyed with the notion that he didn't recognize her but the grip he had on her arm told a different story.
"Irina Derevko. My name is Irina." The words were picked up and carried away by the music blanketing them, but they managed to make it to their only important destination.
"So Irina tell me, what are you doing in a place like this…. And not six feet underground?"
"Jack, I can't do this right now. I have to-" she turned, ready to flee but his stronghold on her arm ceased any movement.
"Run and I'll shoot you," he growled then ran his gaze over her appreciatively. "I know you're not carrying but I am, so we do this my way." A man bumped into him from behind, jarring Jack and Irina.
"I'm terribly sorry. It's these new American shoes," the man spoke in Swedish.
"They're nice shoes," Jack replied in the same language without looking down.
"We don't have much time," the man said in accented English. "Do either of you speak Swedish?" He hoped to make things go quicker by speaking in his native tongue.
At the man's words Jack remember he still had Irina's arm firmly in his grasp. "Not particularly well."
"He's a busy man; not nearly enough time to learn another tongue," Irina said in flawless Swedish. Jack spun to look at her in amazement, not sure why anything she did now should surprise him.
"I'd rather we conduct this meeting in English." Jack sat Irina down beside him in one of the dark corners of the club.
The meeting proceeded with no further interruptions leaving Jack with the necessary intel on the assassination of Prime Minister Palme. Once they were finished, Jack pulled Irina up and thanked the man kindly before exiting the club.
"Where are you taking me?" Irina finally asked, shivering in the cool night air.
"Shut up," he ordered, pressing his fingers deeper into the flesh of her arm, likely bruising the tender skin.
"I know you must have questions and if you just slow down for a second-"
"I said shut the fuck up." He refused to look at her, hurrying them along the wet streets of Stockholm.
"Inside," he bellowed, pulling open a back door to a building. They walked up five flights of stairs before Jack stopped them. He opened the heavy metal barrier onto a hall of doors, each proclaiming their number on the front.
Shifting nervously beside him, Irina remained unsure of what was happening. She had completed her mission by getting the intel the CIA wanted but it didn't look like she would be relaying that message to her superiors in the near future. For Irina, it didn't matter how uncertain Jack's actions had left her, she was simply relieved to see him; pleased to once more be in the familiarity of his presence.
"Move," he spoke again, catching her off guard. He had unlocked one of the doors while keeping his hold on her.
"Jack, I want to-"
"I don't care what the fuck you want," he snarled. "I told you to shut up."
Irina blinked at him, suddenly scared to move. It had occurred to her while in prison that Jack would not be the same after she left but she assumed he would eventually move forward.
"I suppose I should be surprised that you're even alive but nothing in this business seems to surprise me anymore," he seethed through the words. "You and I both know what you are, you're a whore." She looked away from his reproachful stare until he grabbed hold of her chin and forced her eyes to meet his. "It's okay," his words softened although they maintained their bite, "I need a whore tonight."
Irina sucked in a quick breath before Jack's lips attacked hers; they parted effortlessly with recognition of the other's mate. Hands probed through her hair and down the sides of her breasts. She flattened herself against Jack and ground into his groin. The substantial erection hidden beneath his clothes held no mystery as to where the night was going.
"I want everything off," Jack said against her neck, gnawing at the skin exposed there. First her t-shirt than his came off, followed shortly by her bra. "You can talk now." He reared back to watch both his hands cover her round breasts.
A ghost of a smile claimed her mouth at his request, or demand if she were so inclined. Jack had told her countless times that he loved the sound of her voice when they made love, it seemed only natural she would speak to him now. But now was not a time for truths.
"I like your pants," she finally decided on.
"I didn't pick them out." His mouth descended over one nipple, sucking greedily. There was no rhythm to his movements, just blind need. As if he had heard her thoughts, his sucking slowed and his tongue jutted out to tease her nipple into a stiff point before smoothing his tongue back over it.
"You should- you should take them off before they get ruined. I'm sure the agency would be angry if we ripped them or left any stains that wouldn't come out," her voice grew dark and husky, moaning over his delicious mouth.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"Same as you. Information gathering on the assassination of Palme." Her answer didn't interest him as he pulled her impossibly closer to him.
The only light filtered into the room from the harbor off in the distance. But Jack's eye had no trouble seeing the flesh of the woman before him. He wouldn't give her a name, tonight she would only be his whore.
He kicked away his pants and fell to his knees before her, moving her hands away from her sides. Irina helped him by putting them over her head, exposing herself to his greedy hands and mouth.
Moving to sit onto the bed, Jack took a breast into his mouth again, commanding control of the situation. Irina felt the need to dominate emanating off the man before her in waves and relaxed into complacency. While his mouth attended to her breasts, his hands slipped off her skirt and panties, already soaked through.
She moved to straddle his prominent erection but his punishing grip on her hips stopped her.
"No," he said firmly, fire burning from lust and anger through his voice.
For a moment Irina felt fear. She wasn't sure if it was at the idea of Jack wanting to finish what they had started or seeing Jack teetering on the precarious precipice of total control and none at all. Before she could discern a clear answer in her head, he had her on her knees in the middle of the bed with her back turned to him.
Heat from her neck to knees told her Jack had joined her but kept himself from touching her skin. His hands once again found her breasts, teasing and taunting her nipples while he ground deliciously behind her.
One hand disappeared from her breast and she wondered at it, until she felt warm fingers probing her wet folds. He was checking to make sure she was ready for him; more than most whores would receive, she thought candidly.
She tensed momentarily when she realized the significance of the position Jack had chosen. He didn't want to look at her while he fucked her. He couldn't.
With that thought she relaxed again before Jack noticed her mind had drifted. After everything she had done TO him, this she would do FOR him. She could be his whore for one night. She mentally kicked herself for her naivety – she could be his whore for one MORE night. Without any more preamble Jack plunged into her; one hand squeezing her breast the other steadying on her hip. Irina's muscles clenched and screamed at having Jack invade them again before memory took over, recognizing the long lost lover.
Jack pounded into her for pleasure and punishment and everything in between. As minutes passed Irina realized all she had lost when she left her life in America. And with Jack surging into her she recognized the one thing that she most regretting losing was the man Jack Bristow used to be.
The man who had loved his wife and daughter.
The man who cared more for her needs than his own.
The man who didn't need a whore.
Hands firmly planted on the bed sheet to balance, Irina was unable to wipe at the tears journeying over her cheeks.
Then suddenly she felt something cool and wet land on her naked back. Again, moments later, another cool droplet splattered gently between her shoulder blades. Then they came faster.
And Jack was crying with her – or was she crying with him? She couldn't be sure with all the lies and deceit flanking them.
Jack stopped moving, buried inside his traitorous wife, unable to finish yet equally unable to leave her warmth. His mind was reeling, his heart torn and his cock frustrated.
Feeling his hold on her loosen, Irina pulled from him and turn herself over beneath him. Jack's arms dropped to the bed to keep himself up but his head remained bowed, leaving Irina with a view of only his hair. She slid down the bed enough to have him positioned between her legs. In the same second she reached down to return him deep inside her and up so their eyes could meet.
Jack noticed her tears before he could be embarrassed by his own. "Did I hurt you?" He asked out of care or instinct she wasn't sure.
"No," she whispered as though the night may hear her truths and share them with her enemies. "My tears are not for me," she offered no other explanation, knowing with certainty it would not be welcome.
Irina leaned up and kissed the tracks of tears marring his face and urged him to move within her at the same time. Her lips were soft and careful in their caress; afraid if she pressed too hard he would vanish.
Her eyes managed to capture his in the dark for the first time that evening and hold them. She thought she was strong enough to give him a whore for the night but she was wrong. Their movements were slower as Jack did his best to read her gaze. Irina watched the myriad of emotion parade through him; she seemed to be watching the amalgamation of Laura and Irina in Jack's mind in a matter of minutes. As the resolve settled into the brown orbs of the man she once called 'husband' he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips, savoring their taste. And she cried.
Jack's pace became disjointed and labored the closer they both came to their release. She held his head steady to ensure he would see her release; see the truth for what it was and could be. Her walls tighten around him and fluttered just was his balls tensed and released the white hot pleasure coiled inside.
The unlikely lovers collapse into one another, needing for the passion shrouding them to remain.
Jack shifted back a little, spreading her legs wider with his knee, he lavished attention onto her chin, neck and stomach, winding a path down her heated body. With lightning speed one of his hands dropped from her waist, inserting two long fingers into her vagina. The two digits were instantly ensconced in the soaking wet heat of her desire.
"No weapons in there," his guff voice was muffled against her stomach.
"That would be quite a trick." The receding darkness of his mood rubbed against her consciousness determined to be understood.
"No trick is beyond you."
"Such confidence in my abilities Jack," she taunted but ran a hand through his tousled hair to ease its delivery.
"You're supposed to be dead," he said finally, not lifting his head from its pillow on her skin.
"I'm supposed to be a lot of things but I've never been very good at doing what I was supposed to do." She kept her voice low, still fearful of the secrets the darkness could learn.
"She misses you," he spoke after a short silence; his meaning clear.
Irina had to close her eyes against the violent assault of Jack's words. "She'll soon forget about me. I'll be someone she thinks about once a year when there is no one there to give a Mother's Day card to." She tried to convince herself but bless Jack, he realized it.
He glanced up at her eyes, closed tightly in pain while her body lay supple and at ease. The simple hatred he had felt for this woman for years before suddenly became far more complicated than he ever thought possible.
"You're probably right," he agreed, knowing it was only for her benefit. "But what about me?" Irina caught her breath at his bold declaration.
"You'll always miss your wife; you loved her more than she ever knew a person could love and she found herself loving you the same." She ran her fingertips down his face. "Tomorrow, when you wake up you'll move on knowing you had one more night with her and maybe years from now you'll remember the night in Sweden when you met a Russian woman named Irina who could have loved you as much as your wife. But for tonight, I'm merely a ghost," she whispered with simplicity.
"Now sleep," she urged his head back down, closing her own eyes against the reality of the morning.